


Wispy

by SatiricalDraperies



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatiricalDraperies/pseuds/SatiricalDraperies
Summary: The sons of Feanor are spending the night deep in the forests of Valinor when Maglor hears a mysterious sound.
Relationships: Maglor | Makalaurë & Sons of Fëanor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Wispy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chauntlucet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chauntlucet/gifts).



“I hear music,” Maglor announces late at night. 

“And here I was thinking we’d finally get some peace and quiet,” Curufin mutters. “Go to sleep, Maglor.”

But the sons of Feanor are as contrary as their father, and so Maglor drops everything to listen more intently. All he hears is Maedhros’ disgruntled huff as he tries to untangle the ropes that Maglor dropped and pitch the tent all by himself. The twins run to help him, their breaths intermingling with their footsteps and giggles as they trip over themselves trying to help and failing miserably. At the edge of the clearing Celegorm is whistling softly to some birds. They seem to be having a very fascinating conversation.

* * *

The forest becomes lighter as Maglor walks deeper into it. He looks up and cannot see the stars.

* * *

“Someone should go after him,” Maedhros says. He does not want to be the one chosen for this particular mission. Chasing down Maglor is worse than trying to catch a gust of wind: the wind is not nearly so fickle as him.

* * *

The trees are glowing like irradiated versions of Telperion and Laurelin. Maglor leans in. This light is not homogenous. It swirls, brightening and dimming in turn. He cannot tell what is causing this behavior, whether it is bugs or bacteria or something else entirely. Valinor is full of so many anomalies, most of which can turn deadly in a heartbeat, that Maglor moves on without thinking about it too hard. 

There is an art to thinking in Valinor. It defies analysis. You must let your thoughts be wispy and slip in and out of your conscious mind. Valinor does not take kindly to the static nature of the brain.

* * *

Everyone looks to Celegorm. He is still deep in conversation, but if anyone could track down Maglor, it would be him. For all of his prowess in the natural world, he is still quite blind to the people around him. 

Amrod acts out, coughing and dying a horribly traumatic fake death.

Celegorm doesn’t notice.

* * *

The trees don’t glow, but that may be because they can hardly be classified as trees anymore. If the shining ones that Maglor passed earlier were bastardizations of Laurelin and Telperion, then these are the changeling children which have no mother nor father, only a deeply unsettling aspect about them. 

Here the wind does not whistle. The crickets do not chirp. Not even the moss whispers little stories to whoever will stop to listen. It is deathly quiet.

Maglor keeps walking.

* * *

“Fine,” Curufin huffs. “I’m the only one who gets anything done around here, anyways.” He stands up to follow Maglor, but Caranthir steps in his way.

“Sit back down, brother,” he says and leaves the clearing.

“Well then,” Maedhros raises an eyebrow. “That settles that.”

* * *

Maglor’s bones pulsate from the deafening silence.

* * *

Caranthir is having an extremely pleasant stroll through the forest. The ground is soft and there is a well worn path snaking through the greenery. Although it is dark outside, the stars shine bright enough to guide his path as he calls out Maglor’s name.

* * *

The Music fills every aspect of Maglor; he is torn apart by something bigger than himself.

* * *

“Maglor?”

* * *

”Maglor?”

* * *

“Maglor?”

And then Arda rushes back in, a cacophony against his fragile eardrums that were not made for the intensely physical sounds of the world separate from the Music. It is harsh and grounding and Maglor is not sure whether to thank his brother or curse him for interrupting such an experience as he has just had.

“Where were you?” Caranthir asks.

“I heard music,” Maglor says, and walks back to their camp.


End file.
